


Wakiita

by KoroMarimo



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Implied Pregnancy, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, help me jesus, jesus help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 01:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoroMarimo/pseuds/KoroMarimo
Summary: Oops my hand slipped and I did a One Piece insert.Sanji wanted you to break the mold you’d worked so hard to build.





	Wakiita

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not my best work but I'll be back to pretty it up later.
> 
> I figured no one would give a shit if I wrote my OC for One Piece paired with Sanji, so I made it a reader insert to test out the waters of her character. Enjoy.
> 
> For those not well versed in Japanese, a "wakiita" is a term used to refer to an apprentice sushi chef. I figured it would fit, since Eiichiro Oda land is a mythical place where people live in the sky and fucking thunderbolts shoot out of some dude's asshole who lives on the moon (did Eneru ever actually make it there or was that just fanart bullshit?), Never mind if a chef with an I guess sort of French name can speak a little Japanese.
> 
> Funny thing is I used to crush HARD on Luffy and Zoro in my child years. Now I found my love for One Piece rekindled, and my affections have somehow transferred onto Sanji for some weird reason. I'm not questioning it. Just gonna pretend like my world is sunshine <3
> 
> Sanji and respective One Piece characters (c) Eiichiro Oda
> 
> Wakiita-chan character concept idea (c) KoroMarimo

Though he knew what he was doing and was admittedly a far better cook than you could ever hope to be in your life, his little tips and gentle reproaches involving your cooking were far beyond irritating.

Sanji meant well. You knew he had nothing but the highest expectations for your little restaurant made of dreams, steel, and twelve years of hard labor mandated by your stern father. When he had gotten over that stupid fawning over your beauty crap in the beginning and took the time to actually ask about your hopes and dreams, he openly admired your willingness to grin and bear the burdens of building warships in some greasy shipyard for the first half of your life in order to eventually achieve your relatively simple dream of becoming a ramen chef. He offered his help and opinions when he could: sometimes being able to stay with you for weeks on end, sometimes only staying a day, or now more commonly not more than a few hours here or there. Through these little encounters your friendship grew, and much like a bud blossoms into a spring flower so your relationship evolved into what you two could agree on as: "a mutual affection that unfortunately cannot be expanded upon, due to unforeseeable circumstances which could potentially jeopardize dreams, friendships, and/or long term goals". You both lived for the moment, and encouraged one another while sharing recipes lying in silky sheets in the afterglow of an evening's romp whenever you could.

However, Sanji seemed to think he was the be all end all of chefs.

You thought yourself a fairly good cook for a first timer, having been critiqued by the only chef on your island who specialized in ramen. Then again you weren't looking for fame or fortune based solely upon your cooking skills. A simple sea faring life serving ramen to those who wanted it was all you asked for in the end, nothing more and nothing less. You were completely content with simply being just another crappy ramen stand; it sure beat the hell out of the alternative, which was to admit failure and go back home to continue wearing away your health making warships. Yet despite explaining it to him over and over, even while in the throes of making love, Sanji never really seemed to be able to wrap his head around that concept. He often mistook your lack of ambition to become "the greatest ramen chef of all time" as a lack of self-confidence, or often times as downright jealousy towards his self-coined superior skills in the kitchen. Alternative suggestions for soup stocks, constant moments of hovering over your shoulder, snatching of utensils out of your hands, and even violent screaming when what you were about to do did not meet his approval were only a few aspects of what he did to annoy you. These particular ones had the unfortunate luck in being the most frequent of actions. Fate it seemed did not have much in store for you as a married couple due to your inability to get along in the kitchen. Yet honestly you quite preferred your current arrangement to anything more of a commitment. If you would have been married, you would have killed him. Plain and simple.

"This way is much better." Sanji cooed, masking his obsessive compulsive actions with soothing words as though you were a child. He managed to somehow work your strainer out of your hands with sensual caresses and languid kisses in order to lecture you on proper straining techniques. This spontaneous lesson had been less than welcoming, for you now had eight more mouths to feed and one screaming captain who had a penchant for finishing off eight to twenty bowls at a time.

"I honestly don't think they really care at this point about the right way to strain the noodles." You hissed, trying to keep your voice in check as you refused to let go of the handle, "Or about the consistency or taste or really any of the other little millions of things you've been nitpicking at all day... If they did, I'm sure they would have just asked you to make dinner and wouldn't have even bothered coming off the ship to order anything."

"But it's important you hone your skills in ramen making, Wakiita-chan." Sanji countered, smiling and using that damn condescending nick name he knew you hated, "I'm only trying to help you further your dream. Now why don't you get started on fixing up that bonito stock? I'll let you know when I'm ready over here. Remember you have to lightly add the flakes before you-"

You cut his words off short and stormed off towards your precious stock, ignoring your lover's precious little "pearls of wisdom" in favor of your tried and true tactics. Nearly every time he attempted to intervene, you simply smiled and whisked yourself away from him, the clacking sound of your sandals echoing joyously as you schmoozed your way around the crew and served drinks and appetizers in between fixing the soup stock. Evidently it made no difference to the crew whether you used your own skills or Sanji's advice. Luffy, who was often your best critic because of his brutal honesty when it came to food, seemed to really enjoy your own stock and made seventeen orders for more, banging his fists on the bar counter like a child every single time he ordered. Nightfall came quickly and, quite unlike their usual visits, the Strawhats showed no signs of departure. While the rest of the crew fretted and played about on the large expanse of your ship, Robin and Nami sat cool as you please at the bar of the central ramen stand by your side, a rare bottle of sake passing between the three of you as you basked in the twilight glow of the setting sun. It was such a nice change of pace; Sanji's earlier antics had almost faded with the daylight when he suddenly approached you three, more flirtatious than usual.

"I would hate to disrupt such a lovely trio of fine, delicate roses such as yourselves who absolutely blossom in this lovely summer twilight." he began, looking over each one of you with adoration, "But I must pluck my delicate Wakiita-chan away from this garden of flowering beauty and strip her delicate petals from the bloom, scattering them to the winds of my soul so that one day I may perhaps recall her fondly and return again to her side."

Sanji only ever really got ridiculously romantic like this before he began an argument. Most of the time he was aloof and crass when he truly wanted you, a method employed by his own doing that supposedly was to prevent you both from forming an attachment that could jeopardize your agreement to not put each other's goals at risk. So when Robin looked over at you with a question lingering in her eyes, you played it off as though his flirting was a normal occurrence.

"A sexual innuendo… Huh, I like it." You said, masking all your anger with a smile, "I'll be back ladies. Evidently my amorous little gardener wants some action."

You followed him willingly below deck into your own personal quarters, hands reaching behind your person to untie your apron and get the cook in a better mood. Yet when you noticed Sanji did not have the usual hungering look in his eyes when he watched you undress, you immediately ceased all action.

"Why didn't you make the stock like I had suggested?" He demanded.

"Oooookay, I guess we are going to forgo the sex tonight." You stated, tying your apron back on, "What did I do wrong this time?"

"I gave you all those tips and hints to make the ramen better and you still didn't listen to what I told you." He said, not at all succeeding in masking that definite whine to his voice, "I want you to succeed. I don't want you to continue working at the same mediocre level you were before."

"I make it how I like it." You responded, "I've done that for the past twelve years and I haven't had any problems. Why should I start having any now?"

"Not everyone will like what you like!" He countered shrilly, "You don't seem to understand that your cooking is nowhere near the level it should be! Your stock is too bland, your noodles are a joke, and the way you cook fish is just simply-"

"Pathetic...” you said, interrupting his tangent and shaking your head, “Here you are always saying that you want me to succeed, that I should follow your example, that I should do everything short of letting you run my kitchen all by yourself. You don't seem to get it Sanji, _I don't want to be the best at anything_. I’m fine wallowing here in my own mediocre cooking level, so why are you getting your panties in a bunch about it?"

"You're just being too damn stubborn and putting yourself down when you have talent! You could do so much with this ramen, you could have an entire chain if you wanted!" he roared, “You need something more than just this place, I know you didn’t work your ass off for nearly twelve years just to float around the ocean aimlessly waiting for someone to hail you-“

“That’s enough. I’m not listening to your bellyaching anymore.”

You walked boldly over to him taking his face in your hands, his big stupid face you had fallen in love with though you never could admit it, and made him look you straight in the eye.

"Sanji, I. Do. NOT. Want. Fame." You said, putting much emphasis on every word that came out of your mouth.

"I don't want a chain of restaurants on dry land, I don't want to be this fabulous cook who can whip up an award winning soup stock or the commander of a fleet of these ramen stands. I just want to be ME. Plain old me, who runs this rickety old ramen shop on the high seas catering to all the old drunks, vagabonds and murderers who flag me down for a bite. This was the life I planned for when I left my village, I’m living the dream, and it’s the best feeling in the world because it’s the most simplistic desire I’ve fulfilled."

He removed your hands and got into your face yet again.

"Why don't you want more?!" He bellowed, "I'm trying to give you good advice and help you improve! If I didn't care I would have never come back here again and most likely forgotten about all this terrible ramen. I could turn this place around for you! If you would just listen-"

 

"Please let me finish." You said, "I know you're trying to help me, but really I feel like you're just trying to make this place your own. God forbid anyone else has a different style of cooking than what you prefer. To me, it doesn't matter how I cook my meals for the customers. I just experiment and try things my own way. If they like it, that's swell, and I'll be able to sleep at night knowing how they feel about my own hard work. If they don't like it, so what? I don't destroy myself from the inside about it. It’s simply a matter of getting back up on my feet and trying again. I tell you this over and over, yet you don't seem to understand what I'm trying to tell you. I appreciate what you're trying to teach me, but please don't get upset when I want to do things my way."

“How can I not get upset?!” Sanji cried suddenly, “When I spend my nights thinking about you here alone, not seeing you for long periods of time and worrying about your safety and health! Worrying about your wellbeing and wishing only for the best for you. Don’t you understand that I lo-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence!”

You cut him off just as suddenly as his words had burst forth. Your hands were shaking, a slow realization dawning over you when you realized what this all _really_ was about. All you two had worked so hard to build up and prevent from collapsing had suddenly caved in and turned to rubble.

“Don’t. You. Dare…” you whispered, “Don’t you dare let those words come out of your mouth… If you do, you will all get the hell out of my restaurant and I will make sure I never see you again. Do you understand me? We had an agreement, you can’t just come in here taking charge of everything and changing whatever you please-”

“BUT IT DOES NEED TO CHANGE!” he screamed, “This food, this… what we do, everything… It can’t go on like this! Stagnation is all it is, and you’re just afraid to change anything!”

There was a long, pregnant pause that only caused you to become hurt and indignant. You turned away from Sanji’s gaze and found your knees shaking, so you sat on the edge of your bed and looked at the floor while chewing your nails vigorously. Yes, you were afraid. Afraid that you would love this stupid cook too much and disrupt the life he wanted to pursue, and that eventually if you did follow his advice and become the best, your quiet life would be disrupted forever with fame and the eventual arrival of your father who would not hesitate in trying to bring you back to the shipyard by any means necessary. You didn’t want change, because you were afraid everything that had been so simple and pleasurable would suddenly become corrupted and end with misery.

“Don’t do that to your hands.” He barked, and he came towards you to pull them away from your mouth, “Haven’t I told you over and over that a cook’s hands are-“

“They’re already damaged.” You replied, “It’s too little too late for that lecture now.”

He traced the callouses and scars all along your rough skin, each imperfection bringing to mind all the stories you had told him of how you worked yourself nearly to death every day in your old life. One half-moon scar might recall an accident you had with a pile of lumber and a saw, or a rough patch directly under your palm might have reminded him of your endless nights of soldering parts of ships, and even weapons together as you worked tirelessly to make your escape. One in particular however; a large lump of dried skin on your middle finger, caught his interest. It was your writing callous that had come from a long time of planning and sketching out the ship which would sail you away from the horrors of your work, and which would eventually lead you and Sanji to one another. That particular imperfection had been the most significant. For it was a badge, reminding you every day that you had finally achieved your freedom.

Sanji was at a loss for words, now that his anger had begun to fade. Eventually he did leave, getting the hell off the ship without so much as goodbye as you dried your hands on your apron. There were a lot of dishes to clean, there always were whenever Luffy paid a visit, but you didn’t clean up immediately as per your custom.

Instead, you took an old shirt that Sanji had left behind once, to remind you of him whenever he left, and sat at the bar of your shop. Bringing the fabric to your nose, you inhaled the scent of the fabric even though it had long since faded. Now that he was gone you wondered if he would ever come looking for you again, or were you trapped here now? This ship was your first love even though it now became your floating Fortress of Solitude. Everything from the burners in the back to the high bar stools you had built with your own two hands. This had been a secret from everyone at the shipyard. You’d told yourself in childhood that one day you’d leave everything behind. Your father, your mother’s ashes, it was all back in that polluted hellhole. On occasion you’d drift back inland and gather supplies, only to leave out again when the ship couldn’t hold anymore. Monsters both of the human and non-human variety only bothered when they were hungry. And really, you thought, trying to make yourself feel better, wasn’t Sanji just another one who bothered you when he hungered for the feeling of skin on skin?

You felt sick. Sick to your stomach of all the litanies of lies that the relationship had brought. It made you so ill you couldn’t keep breakfast down, or even lunch if the anxiety really got to you. Thinking of all the times he’d used you up and taken off only made you want to choke. Your body was suffering from the stress as well, what with the recent weight gains and soreness and all the other things wrong. For a moment you wanted to go after the ship, take Sanji in your arms again and make him see reason.

“No.” you said aloud.

There was nothing to answer back but the lull of the surf, as well as the ever constant bubbling of your soup stock. But you’d be alright, you told yourself. Everything would work out in the end and you wouldn’t need to worry about the tranquility of the space you’d created being violated. Even after the first nine months when your patience was tried and you stayed up nights wanting your cook back, you just kept reassuring the both of you that it would be ok.

You’d choke down the lie even if it killed you.


End file.
